


Tomorrow is pretty much like today

by Ingi



Category: Anthropomorphism
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anthropomorphic, Apologies to the Wranglers, Crack, Gen, Lesbian Character(s) of Color, Starbucks Barista United States
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingi/pseuds/Ingi
Summary: The "USA is a Starbucks barista" AU everyone was waiting for!(And not-so-secretly wishing it would never get written.)





	Tomorrow is pretty much like today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ioana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ioana/gifts).



> I hate everything and everyone.
> 
> Anyway. I tried not to make this political, because it was supposed to be fun, but then USA started getting low-key racist and islamophobic and homophobic... errr, somehow I'm not surprised.  
> There are no slurs or anything here, though! It's all mostly implied.

This Starbucks is always busy on Mondays.

And no one sane wants to deprive a sleepy citizen from their coffee for longer than necessary, but then again, no one ever accused United States of America of being _sane_ , either. (They did accuse him of other things, of course, but none they could prove in Court.) So he keeps being his usual slow self, remembering to take the orders only after he's finished tweeting who knows what —knowing him, probably hate- no, _almost definitely_ hate—, and then always getting them wrong anyway.

A short, Peruvian woman walks into the Starbucks, wading through the crowd until she reaches the counter.

"Good morning, Justice!" Freedom says, sounding every bit as desperate as she feels.

"Hey, Free," the woman replies. She takes her apron from Victory, who is handing it to her, clearly resigned to her fate. She says she releases all her frustration during her fencing classes, and it'd be hard not to believe her, once one sees the fury with which she stabs the dummies —and how her classmates automatically sidestep her—. "That's a gorgeous hijab, by the way, Free."

USA, who always ignores everything around him unless it happens to be none of his business, mumbles something undoubtly awful under his breath.

Truth rarely gets involved in anything that has got to do with USA even tangencially, but this time she pretends to trip and showers him in the hot water she's carrying. Then, while USA is busy cursing loudly —to their clients' horror and desbelief—, she disentangles one of her earrings from a curl of hair from her afro that has gotten stuck there, beams at her other coworkers, and disappears into the Starbucks' back, as usual, not to be seen in hours.

USA takes his iPhone and runs out of the Starbucks, because he's a big baby and apparently can't work with his clothes _wet_ , and Victory lets out a loud guffaw. She's crouching on her knees, holding her stomach, for so long that they manage to cut their queue in half.

"You're late, Justice," she suddenly says, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. "As always. Just so you don't think I haven't noticed."

"It's not like the _boss_ cares," Freedom mumbles, bitter.

"He's not the boss!" Victory hisses. "He's just on charge for now because his _daddy_ owns half of the buildings in the city, this one included."

Freedom and Justice look at each other and shake their heads, smiling. If they could see it, they're pretty sure Victory's wings tattoo would be burning with righteous fire, like some kind of punk, vengeful angel's.

So USA, of course, chooses precisely that moment to come back stomping.

"Stop being _gross_ in front of our clients," he spits out, and goes right back to pretending he knows how to do his job.

"I don't get it," Victory whispers, raising a brow. "How can he be this homophobic? Isn't he dating that Russia dude?"

"Yes, technically," Truth replies, and grins at them when they startle. She's way too good at sneaking up on people, sometimes. "But they keep insisting they aren't. It's all very _no homo_ and everything. Apparently, giving each other _bro_ -jobs when they're drunk doesn't count."

And she wanders off again, possibly to restock. It _is_ her turn.

"Anna Marie Addendum!" USA calls, tapping the counter impatiently. "Anna Marie, your Frappuccino®!"

"Uhh, it's Mary Annette Addison, actually," a tall woman with an undercut says, clearly unimpressed. She takes her cup, careful of not touching USA's fingers. "But thanks, I guess."

"Whatever," USA mumbles, sullen. "Shirty Burp! _Burp_! Burp for a Mocha Macchiato ®!"

"Shirley Brook," the client in question corrects.

USA stares at them with his best disgusted expression, the one that implies _how you dare to question my superior knowledge_ and also suggests _meet me in the back and I'll wreck you_ even though the closest to wrecking anyone USA could get in a fight would be punching his own face. Justice immediately offers the client a discount, beaming so wide that her face is probably breaking, but hey, everything for customer service —she's already given it her soul, life, and sanity, after all—.

A Chinese man winces and turns right on his heels, tugging his boyfriend outside with him.

"I don't want to hear how he butchers my name," he hisses, panicked —and Victory, who happens to be Chinese herself, silently nods in agreement and shows him to the door—.

"Benedict Cumberbatch!" USA yells, gritting his teeth. He's gripping that cup of Teavana® Oprah Cinnamon Chai Tea like it has personally offended him. "Benedict!"

A white man who vaguely resembles the Grinch takes a step forward, looking confused.

"I- Me? Are you talking about me?" he whispers, with a marked British accent. "Really? _Me_?"

"Probably," Freedom tells him, apologetic.

"No, but- really? Are you really- Are you sure?"

"Take your tea, man," USA replies, pushing it into the man's hands. "You're holding the queue."

"But- But! Don't you mean Blubberbutt Cabbagepatch?" he insists, putting his Teavana® Oprah Cinnamon Chai Tea back on the counter and wringing his hands nervously. "Buffalo Custardbath? No? Buttercup Toodlesnoot?" he insists, sounding more desperate each time.

"Get _out_ , Benny," USA glares. "Seriously, dude."

"Not even Wimbledon Tennismatch? Oh, oh- I've been called Bourgeoisie Crumplehorn on occasion!"

Victory sighs, putting her hand on the man's back and gently pushing him towards the exit. He's stunned, for some reason, and lets her curl his fingers around the Teavana® Oprah Cinnamon Chai Tea cup without opposing any resistance.

"It's alright," Victory says. She takes pity on the man, who now looks utterly heartbroken. "That one's on the house, okay?"

"Bumblebee Pumpkinsmack?" he tries once more, in a really small voice, as his eyes fill with tears. "No?"

But at everyone's general shake of head, he takes a deep breath and finally walks out of the Starbucks, looking dangerously unstable on his feet.

"Well," Truth says, suddenly sitting on the counter and sipping a Chocolate Smoothie®, "that was fun."

"Champ!" USA yells. "Champ Pork!"

"It's Chad North, dude!"

" _Whatever_!"

Victory covers her face with her hands and sighs, very deeply. She considers telling Truth to get her butt off the counter, but in the end she just hops there too, resigned.

"Caramel Frappuccino®?" Freedom offers, with a grin, and gives each one of them a cup.

"No, thanks," Justice replies, setting her own drink beside her on the counter. "I'm having Iced Coconut Milk Latte® with Malibu."

It's just another day at Starbucks.

They sip their drinks and watch the Sun come up, bathing everything in golden light —except for USA, who keeps being horribly, unbearably _white_ —. Well. Maybe some other time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos for USA being the ultimate fuckboy! (And a white fratbro, too. Have no doubt about it.)  
> Comment for how I actually didn't make up a single Starbucks drink! (Yes, they are _that_ terrible.)


End file.
